


The Sons of a Battlecry

by heijihatsutori



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Character-centric, Dimension Travel, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Gen, Samurai, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heijihatsutori/pseuds/heijihatsutori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His world so far has been nothing but white that mocks him when he is awake, and black that swallows him whole when he is asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Nujabes and Shing02's 'Battlecry', more well-known as the OP to the anime Samurai Champloo.

 

_  
Maybe, someone asked about me_

_Someone from somewhere, before I was even born_

 

 

            He cracks an eye open, and is greeted by nothing but pure white. The curtains blows inward, softly like the calming wind from the open window. And each time, he can catch a glimpse of the blue sky; the sunlight feels warm on his stiff body. He takes a deep breath and sighs, he knows this place anywhere. The faint smell of aesthetics, the silent and cold demeanor of atmosphere hanging in the air, hospitals are never an interesting place to wake up to. 

 

            He closes his eyes, relaxing his somewhat stiff body, his mind wanders around the wide world. He dreams of him running down the park and goes to the beach, hanging around the town, and is present at everywhere his feet can bring him. Wherever it may be, he will not mind.

 

            Because anywhere is better than here, he thinks.

           

            He is sick of himself, lying on the bed all the times when the whole world is wide enough for him to see. He does not want to rot himself in this small room, no. He wants out and his mind is screaming of agreement, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, but his legs remains numb as his lungs struggles to share the excitement and breathe, and that is all to it.

 

             He breathes slowly, and within seconds, all the adrenalin rush is gone, like it never even appears at the first place. Call him indifferent, he is too practical to know that despairing himself will not help him in anyway possible. His world so far has been nothing but white that mocks him when he is awake, and black that swallows him whole when he is asleep.

 

            He might as well dead already.

 

            Until his world turns monochrome in color out of the sudden, and he is standing on his feet that he thinks, for the first time.

 

            “I’m alive.”

 

 

_The murmured regrets are clinging to your hand_

_Is that sharpened blade being swung for the sake of someone else?_

 

 

            He is running, so fast he can hardly catch his breath, but that is not important at the moment. He is being chased after all, despite the fact that he does not even know what exactly is going on and why is he being hunt down at the very first place. He is sure enough that he just walks around when out of nowhere the men starts shouting and are all after him.

 

            In an absurd situation like this, of course, he does the next best thing; he runs.

 

            He runs and runs and runs, never turning back even for once. He closes his ears from any sound and just focuses on his run. He can feel the wind, the rustles of the leaves on his way, and the sun shines above him. His heart is beating, and he is smiling, and he, is alive.

 

            When he realizes it, he is already far, far away from the place he starts running, and the men are nowhere to be seen, to his relieve. Slowing his pace down, he jogs down the path, and gathers his breathing again, the air feels fresh inside him. He eventually stops when he accidentally bumps into a person, knocking both of them down and he knocks his head on the ground at the process.

 

            He almost sees the black world coming when a voice calling out to him and a hand shakes him up almost unwillingly. With a groan, he opens his eyes, only to stare into a pair who looks eerily similar to his own.

 

            No, scratch that, he just meets a doppelganger of his own, clad in a dark blue kimono and carrying a daisho -a pair of swords consists of a katana and a smaller blade called wakizashi- at the left waist staring curiously at him.

 

            Heck, even the next words that comes out of each other’s lips are the same.

 

            “Who are you?”

 

 

_Oh don’t lose your head_

_'Cause none of us were angels_

 

 

            The town is an epitome of evil. The darkness of its shadow extends to the farthest space, engulfing everything within it. He walks along the dark alley, cringes at how cold everything and everyone is. There is no warmth existed here, even the sun is hidden from its glory by the thick smoke on the sky, wrapping this world like a cocoon.

 

            He met the person already by chance and truth to be told, they actually pass by each other, but he is unnoticeable by the other party. The person is totally engrossed in himself that he fails to see him, not that he blames him or anything. In fact, it might be easier this way.

 

            He does not want to feel attached or anything.

 

            So, he follows him around, to the restaurant, the bar, the bank, all the way invincible in the person’s eyes. He watches how the person is so cold and heartless, killing already five people at the moment, every time checking a list in his pocket, possibly on who is the next victim or something, and it dawns on him.

 

            The person is a hired killer, and a skillful one at that. He shows no remorse on anybody and everybody, and he knows that this time, there is a slim chance of him successfully going back like before, but then, he chooses this, and even if he does not, he may still doing it.

 

            There is no returning back.

 

            Today, he watches the person entering a tall building, the tallest in the city, and by the way the person fiddles with a brown small notebook in the pocket, he knows there is a job to be done. Somebody is going to die later. Shrugging the thought off, he follows the person up the 90th storey building.

 

            Somewhere inside of him, he thinks that it is odd the person does not notice him by now; it has been quite some time already since he is here after all. Still, he cannot come up with a good explanation so he buries the idea away.

 

            He is here to kill the person; in order to start anew, for the sake of his own life, and come hell or water high, he is doing it, the words from before echoing in his head, over and over again, incessantly repeating.

 

            “A new beginning comes from an ending, after all.”

 

 

_Turn off your mind, unwind  
and see how high the cloudy sky_

 

 

            Today, a new male nurse is assigned to do the usual checkup on the patient room 414, who, according to the report on his hands, permitted minimal consciousness and brain activity as of now; simply known to people as been in a comatose state. It might been normal has the patient been in a bad condition all this time, but, this person, is actually doing fine and might recovered fully. Even though to be frank, might recover does not gives any guarantees in the first place.

 

            The nurse understands this, and he is sure the patient knows it better than he is.

 

            Slowly, he pushes the door to the room, and cringe at the sight. The room is cold, dimly lit, and the whole atmosphere screams out nothing but gloominess. The curtain is drawn, hiding the tightly closed window, though sometimes the wind from the fan blows it inward, welcoming the moonlight to crawl across the room, illuminating a person lying on the bed peacefully by the said window.

 

            The lack of life in the small hospital room is depressing.

 

            There are almost no sound can be heard, safe for the whirling of the fan and hushed whisper of hospital staffs outside the door. Other than that, the place is as silent as it can be. Occasionally, the nurses or doctors will come in and check the condition of the person who frequenting the room, hoping for any sign of improvement, to no avail.

           

            He immediately starts his work, checking the blood pressure, temperature, pulse rate, etc; anything a normal nurse may do. Everything is normal, to his relieve, safe for the lack of warmth on the skin, but that is to be expected, maybe, and he takes a glance at the patient; the skin is pale, even more so when the moonlight shines on it, the long, dark bangs rested on the forehead, and for some reason, he thinks that the patient looks peaceful in his sleep.

 

            He smiles at the thought, and as he looks around he makes a mental note to bring at least some flowers to decorate the room, he cannot stand the emptiness accumulated in here. Besides, he thinks, the patient might like that.

 

            Maybe, just maybe, he will not feel so lonely.

 

            He walks slowly towards the exit, does not want to make any unnecessary sound and interrupt the patient, despite his conscience reminds him that he is in coma, he may or may not hear you; he shakes his head at that. The patient looks like he can be his younger brother, and he still feels that he has to respect the privacy of a patient, conscious or not.

 

            Taking a last look into the room, he cannot help but feel for the young man, and softly, whispers to the shadows on his vision, the door closes with a barely audible click.

 

            “Have a nice dream, Kyuhyun-shii.”

 

 

_Tell me the secrets of the dream  
about the sorrows that I’ll come across_

 

 

 

 

The world is anything but empty, and a mishmash of black and white. It is like vacuum, an outer space, limitless and far reaching. In front of him is the person, which brings the color grey, and totally disconnected from this world. Truth to be told, it is not like he is afraid or anything of sort, rather, he is curious, of the person, that is.

 

            He knows this is nothing but a dream anyway.

 

            This is a dream world, where he is nothing but him. He can create anything that he wants, he can escape from reality, and he often does, although he sometimes is not aware of it when he wakes up. Yet, he usually is in a good mood afterwards, so he can vaguely guess. After all, this is his dream. This is his world. He owns everything here, and knows everything here.

 

            So when the person suddenly shows up, it confuses the hell out of him. Nobody is supposed to be here, nobody can, since he block all the door that sometimes randomly shows up, indicating somebody else’s dream might crash and intertwine with his.

 

            He hates that.

 

            He does not want anyone to bother him. He had enough of that already. He had enough of people interfering with his life and decides things for him. He had enough of people showing pity just because he is well, sick. He feels like he is better off alone, as always. So he closes himself up, and does things his way, successfully driving people away, one by one. Until there are no one else left but him, alone. He regrets nothing, of course. He chooses this.

 

            He proceeds to ignore the person, who to him is a nuisance, until one day, out of the blue, the person talks to him for the first time.

 

            "I will make it so you can see either the past or the future, so which do you prefer?"

 

 

            For the first time since he found this monochrome world, the ground shakes, and he thinks.

 

            “Of course, there is a price.”

 

            At that, he feels the ground shakes violently beneath him, and as the world collapses in front of him, he can see the person clearly, staring at him, whispering softly amidst the chaos. He loses his balance on whatever it is that keeps his footing before and he can feel himself falling down on all that he ever known, the voice ringing in his ears.

 

 

            “Have a nice trip, Kyuhyun-shii.”

 

 

_Some live, some die_

_in the way of the samurai_

 

 

            The summer’s sun is so pretty it blows his mind, and for a second he momentarily forgets that there is a war going on. Behind him, sounds of swords clashing breaking the air with sharp tone, and cries of pain fills the entire forest. He slumps his shoulder down, staring down his wooden geta on the foot, and prays that the person will be alright.

 

            In this period of time, where warriors are not as important as before, due to the relatively peaceful era, he cannot help but feel that the person is living in a wrong frame of time. The person, despite being a ronin, still holds the bushido code close to heart, and he admires him for it. But then, he cannot really understand this whole samurai business, he does not belong here anyway.

 

            There is a tug at the hem of his loose shirt, and he turns to see him standing, barely break a sweat, the daisho is back at their places. He stands up to leave, but the person is quick enough to put a blindfold over his eyes, and lead them away. He understands that the scene must not be good for his stomach to handle, thus the action, but his imagination on what is going on is not helping either.

 

            Still, he is grateful, for he can still smell the blood lingers now.

 

            The person takes off the blindfold for him sometime after that, and wears the straw hat, lowers it down for good measure, and he follow suit. They are heading West for Nagasaki now, and somehow he thinks of the incident when Murasaki Dojo got the signboard been brought down as the sign of humiliation toward the dojo right in front of their eyes and how almost instantly, this person kills all the witness without hesitation, the gleam in his eyes as he does so is not normal.

 

            It is like that of a Lucifer.

 

            He knows that the person owes the owner of the dojo before, and the old man had died years ago, still, to face such an incident is probably unbearable to him, thus the mass killing. And now the shinsengumi are all hot in their tails, increasing the number of murder in the person’s hand.

 

            Even that, does not make the person a bad person in his book. And he is sure he does not tag along the ride just because they have the same face, no. He might die here, and might even not being able to go back, but for now, he is here, with the ronin who might actually be a fragment of him in anyways possible, and he is content enough.

 

            As they lie down and call it a day, the Earth is their bed and the starry sky as their roof he thinks of his life so far, and breathes out.

 

            “I’m glad I met you, Kyu-san.”

 

            He just hears the soft breathing of the samurai as a reply, yet, he smiles. For he can almost hears what the person wants to say anyway.

 

            “I’m glad I met you too, Kyuhyun-san.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

_A dying scream makes no sound_

_Calling out to all that I've ever known_

 

           

            He watches as the person in front of him tightens the grip on the gun, the eyes are cold, and there is not a slightest of hesitation in it as he pulls the trigger, the sound of the shot breaks the silence of the night on this rooftop, but barely drowns the voice of the buzzing city. He counts once, twice, three times, and the body looses its footing on the rail, and falls down the 90th storey building they are at now.

 

            He does not know the man, nor did he cares, thus the lack of sympathy on the dead. Their eyes do meet halfway before the deceased falls though, and he can tell there is a trace of surprise in there at the way they widens in the split second the vision lands on him. He does not blame him in anyway.

 

            It is not his fault, that he saw a doppelganger of his killer right before his fall.

 

            The said killer turns, facing him now, hands in the coat pocket, the wind blows swiftly around them, occasionally howling to break the thick silence until a sound of a helicopter above them breaks it to pieces. A rope stair is been brought down, right at the person’s side, waiting for him to grab it and fled the scene.

 

            He is ready to leave himself, the body turns towards the door when he heard him.

 

            “Why are you here?”

 

            He turns back, the person already have one hand on the rope, the eyes stares into his, locking their gaze together. Below them the city is alive, lights are blinding, people are whispering, shadows lurking, and everything is possible to happen. Still, it has nothing to do with him by all means; he is detached from it all, after all.

 

            He does not belong here, no. Not in this time frame.

 

            So the question does not catch him by surprise, rather, he sort of see it coming sooner or later. He smiles awkwardly at that, and the thought calms him a bit, maybe. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a brief second, and looks at the person again, this time while smiling sweetly.

 

             “Nothing, it’s just that I’m here to kill you, Kui Xian.”

 

 

_The left is mine, and the right is yours_

_The left is yours, and the right is mine_

 

 

 

            He wishes for his life to be his. He does not want any ties to anybody or anything in particular. He remembers their deal, and he knows this is risky with a big red capital letter, but, he is a firm believer of his life comes and ends with himself.

 

            There is no concept of sharing in his book.

 

            Logically, he will brush the offer off, holding himself true, and goes on, but he knows that it is impossible for him to do so. His body is failing, and as much as he wants to ignore it, he knows he needs an escape, and this opportunity might be his chance.

 

            “You can see both the past and the future, and choose one that you want. You can even begin your life there, if you want, as a new person.”

 

            Each word that falls in his ears is like gold; too sweet, too poisonous to believe.

 

            “But, you have to give the current time, the present, to me.”

 

            He cannot afford that, really.

 

 

_Catch the wheel that breaks the butterfly_

_I cried the rain that fills the ocean wide_

 

 

            Nagasaki is a lively town, and he is glad that they manage to pull it together and reach the place. By that time the Dutch has start to enter Japan, and maintaining a diplomatic relationship between the two countries, and somehow this causes less people to go after them, be it the shinsengumi or assassins from the Shogun, to his relief.

 

            Truth to be told, he does know why they are heading to Nagasaki, of all places. He asked Kyu-san about it and the person willingly tell him on it, to his surprise and now that they are here, he wonders what are going to happen from now on.

 

            He knows he cannot stay, he cannot afford to, despite the person told him that he actually can back then, he does not trust that person, at all. He is not that gullible of a person. He did tell Kyu-san about him though, on who he is, why he is here, and all.

 

            He watches Kyu-san talking to the shop owner, asking for directions, and somehow, it strikes him on how similar they are, Kyu-san and himself, like there is no difference at all in terms of appearance. Now that he think about it, that might also be the same reason why Kyu-san is open to him anyways. They are painfully similar after all.

 

            He breathes in the cool air, and smiles, catching Kyu-san’s attention, which raises his eyebrows at that. In a split second, he can see katanas drawn out behind the person’s back and he lunges forward and there are the shrilling sounds of katanas clashing one another ringing in his ears.

 

            He is back at the battlecry.

 

            By the end of the day, they accomplish their mission and he is chatting with Kyu-san when suddenly the person turns and stares at him.

 

            “It’s time to end it all, right?”

 

 

_A hurricane, a hurricane  
is sometimes the only thing that brings you back again_

 

 

            He comes prepared, he is facing a professional after all, but then, he is not that amateur either, he has his fair share too, so it does not bother him as much as he thought he will. He is not familiar with many things here, this is too different from his place after all, but somehow it does not give him too much of a culture shock. But then, to be present here is almost impossible in the first place so he just shrug the thought off.

 

            The person, or rather, Kui Xian is still standing there, staring at him. He has no idea if this person knows what exactly is going on, but he cannot bother with it now. He slides his right leg backwards slowly, his eyes tracing each of his opponent’s movement.

 

            “You know who I am?”

 

            He nods at that, both on the job as a killer, heck, he just witness one before, and of him being the one living the future time frame. The Earth is too old here after all.

 

            “I’m curious, if one of us happens to die here, will the other party disappear?”

 

            He smirks at that. Of course, he knows better.

 

            “No.”

 

            Kui Xian takes out his pistol, aiming at him now.

 

            “Great.”

 

            He runs at the person with great speed of a samurai, holding a wakizashi, and the person shoots. Their aims hit home perfectly.

 

            And there is blood pooling on their feet.

 

 

_I hugged my dreams till I was awake, the world before me blurred_

_I say promises to myself, not believing that you don’t exist any more_

 

 

           Someplace in a distant of time, a monochrome world appears. And they are standing against each other again, like before. As if nothing happens, as if everything before this never happened at all. And it apparently puzzles the person, maybe, for he asks almost immediately.

 

            “Why are you here?”

 

            He smiles a bit, staring at his feet, almost imagining a wooden geta will appears again on both feet, and breathes, shaking his head. It is a nice dream, and it pains him to wake up from it, but this is his time, he belongs here, like it or not.

 

            And he is not going to losing it, no.

 

            He chooses the past before, so that he can become a caring person rather than a strong one. So he can understand what memories are. And he is glad he did. The choice teaches him on what is precious to a person, like how Murasaki Dojo is so important to Kyu-san; he travels all the way to Nagasaki to find the successor and begs him to open the dojo again, like how the previous owner asked him to not let it die before he leaves.

 

           Kyu-san belongs to the dojo that he loves so much, and he is sure that the present time is where he belongs to. There is no other way. He might be able to find his new beginning there, but there will be something missing, and he cannot afford that.

 

            “I’m breaking the deal off.”

 

            The person smirks, arms across the chest.

 

            “No way will that happen.”

 

            He smiles, and the ground shakes a bit.

 

            “You seem to forget something, this is my world. It exists because I’m here. The past and future worlds, they exist because of the doppelgangers, Kyu-san and another person I believe. ”

 

            There is shock written all over the face, as the truth comes home.

 

            “No, you can’t.”

 

            He remembers the time at Nagasaki, and he clenched his fist hard.

 

            “Yes, I can.”

 

 

 

_We live a dying dream_

_If you know what I mean_

 

 

            He can feel his breath stricken at that. He knows what Kyu-san is going to say, he knows it all. In fact, he can see it coming. Still, to actually experience it and knowing it is two different thing altogether.

 

            “Thank you for everything, Kyuhyun-san.”

 

            He is overwhelmed by guilt at the thought, and he cringes a bit at that, and a hand reaches his shoulder, squeezes it for good measure. He can hear his heart breaking and he feels like he can cry, but no, he does not do so. He has to move on. That is the best and the only way left.

 

            “Sayonara.”

 

 

_Time will kiss the world goodbye_

_Falling down on all that I've ever known_

 

           

            The world is collapsing. The buildings, the streets, everything is. He smiles at that, knowing that his world probably is breaking apart too by now. He thinks of Fuji-san the mountain and wishes the white snow at the top of it will wash everything away properly.

 

            He wants to say he is sorry, but there is no way he can. So he just stays silent like that, lies down and catches the person’s eyes in the midst of it all. He smiles at the person, and receives a small one in return. The person, apparently he knows, too. And the thought comforts him, maybe, even if just a little bit as the world falls down on them and calling out to all.

 

            He closes his eyes, and exhales.

 

            Someplace at a distant of time, a monochrome world dissipates, and the owner of the world loses his balance and falling down.

 

 

 _Shut it down, Shut it down_  
It's about to explode  


           

He cracks an eye open, and is greeted by nothing but pure white. The curtains blows inward, softly like the calming wind from the open window. And each time, he can catch a glimpse of the blue sky; the sunlight feels warm on his stiff body. He takes a deep breath and sighs, he knows this place anywhere. The faint smell of aesthetics, the silent and cold demeanor of atmosphere hanging in the air, hospitals are never an interesting place to wake up to. 

 

            He closes his eyes, relaxing his somewhat stiff body, his mind wanders around the wide world. He dreams of him running down the park and goes to the beach, hanging around the town, and is present at everywhere his feet can bring him. Wherever it may be, he will not mind.

 

            Because there are a lot of things offered to him in this world.

 

            He opens his eyes again, and catches the sight of fresh flowers on the table by his side. He stares at it for a full minute and he find himself flustered at that. Slowly, he blinks his eyes, biting back tears that accumulate so suddenly from falling.

 

 

And just when he finally succeeds, the door opens slowly, revealing a male nurse who may look just slightly older than he is entering in. He can see the person’s eyes widen at the sight of him and the man runs out, dropping all the stuffs in his hand at the time and back with a doctor in less than a minute, which he finds kind of impressive, really.

 

 

            On the day he leaves the hospital, he thanks the nurses, who always on his aid and the doctors with a smile, looking up ahead of him, the wind blows softly by his side and walks on, taking the surroundings.

 

            He stops to watch the sunset, and he can feel his heart beats softly inside.

 

 

_This kind of feeling that I want to forget, but can't, what do you call it?_

_My chest is a flutter, but this kind of feeling that is so nostalgic, what do you call it?_

 

 

            He barely reaches the end of the long path of a garden when somebody bumps into him, knocking both of them over and he hits his head on the ground, he can feel it spinning in an abnormal speed now. Then, suddenly, a hand reaches his shoulder, squeezes it for good measure, and he takes a good look at the person in front of him. He is sure he does not know the person, but somehow, there is something about him that feels somewhat familiar, but he cannot place it.

 

            So he does the next best thing; he asks.

 

            “Have we met somewhere before?”

 


End file.
